Yay for Politics!
by BernardTheWolf
Summary: After another crappy world meeting which Germany walks out on, Italy comes back with the Geneva Conference. Literally. T to be safe. R&R! GerIta
1. Day One

**Guten tag readers! I wish you all a good day and would like you all to know that since it's summer now I shall try to update every few days or so. If it takes longer than that, that's because I actually plan on having a life this summer, so please forgive me for being... _awesome _:P heheh...**

**Just so you know, I made up the thing about there being a Geneva conference after the Iraqi war broke out. It was just convenient for me.**

_**Prussia: oh no she didn't!**_

_**Me: everyone hide. O_O**_

**_Hey!_ Guess what? I don't own Hetalia! **

**Yay for Politics!**

_Verdammt._ Germany sighed again, trying to push the day's afternoon out of his mind for the tenth time. Seriously, he was _the_ _only_ country, excluding Japan, that actually had a _brain._ Today had been special too... today hadn't been any other World Meeting. It was the official first day of the 2001 Geneva Conference. Germany had spent three months. _Three freaking months. _Well he had always tried to keep his business clean, (especially after WW2) so he could give good reports when the need arose for him to speak. But prior to the conference he spent weeks compiling statistics, information, writing speeches... the list went on and on.

But this morning? Germany groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging the indentations his reading glasses left on the thin skin.

Long story short, Germany got there an hour early (as usual), sat in his predetermined spot, set up all his things, straightened his files (and the already straight name plaque that stated his person) and reviewed his notes one last time for any possible errors. (As if.) This conference was scheduled to last three days at most. Things like this only happened when crap got real amongst the countries. This time, a Muslim extremist group obliterated the World Trade Center. Naturally, America was pissed. Germany couldn't really disagree with the obnoxious blonde. If someone was stupid enough to assault Munich, he would have mounted their heads on a stake in his front yard.

Anyways, the morning hard started off in a wonderfully uneventful manner. Things had been running immaculately, like a beautiful, well oiled machine. All attending nations were present, speech time limits were not exceeded, and so far no petty spats had broke out. And so far everything was running according to schedule. They were going to go ahead and get other problems out of the way, like financial crises and such before they got to America. Basically the entire meeting was everyone telling him 'we support you from _waaayyy _over here!'. Just because he went and stuck his nose in everyone else's business didn't mean _they _had to do they same. Germany was in his _zone._ This conference was go so well and organized it was like he was seeing through a haze of euphoria.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

When all the nations returned from their 11-12 lunch break, they had worked their way around to the Mediterranean sector and Greece got up to speak. Now you're probably thinking, _Why Greece? Whats wrong with Greece? _When the easy-going nation stood to talk the only subject that came out of his mouth was about the ensuing financial ruin his country was drowning in. He began to ask, no beg, the first world countries to help him out, and not let him fall under. On this comment five countries bolted to their feet at once, America overpowering the others by sheer volume.

"Whoa! Hang in there a minute bro! We've dumped millions of dollars on y'all and you're still screwed! And if you didn't notice I'm kinda going through a recession too! It's totally _not cool_ to go asking the big guys for handouts when we've already tried to do our best!" he squawked at the tan skinned country. The others shouted their agreement.

Germany was actually impressed that came out of America's mouth. But it was very true, and the stress the younger country was going through made one prone to outbreaks. Shortly after the bespectacled nation put his two cents in, pandemonium ensued. Several other nations followed suit with America, getting up and yelling at the poverty-stricken Greece. After that other countries that were drowning in debt and other devastating circumstances, like Romania and Macedonia, got up and butted in that they needed a hand too, they way Liechtenstein was cared for by Switzerland. Basically they were whoring themselves out.

Somewhere around the middle of this, Germany's ticking began to act up. His eye, his upper lip. He could feel a yell and a profane string of German words welling up in his throat. Easy... he kept trying to take deep breaths, even when they got misdirected by his anger, and he choked on them. Counting to thirty twice, he got moderate control of himself. Self-help books were amazing.

"_Verdammt dummkopfs..." _he said under his breath, rising from his chair. Some of the meeker countries noticed it stopped arguing immediately and sat down, but America, England, France and China were in a very heated argument with some of the Middle-eastern and Scandinavian countries. The blond nation was trying very hard to stifle his OCD-wrath, and let it go. He knew there was only one thing he could do from here on out. Germany gathered his things and left.

So now here he was, all by his lonesome in his great big house with a child psychology book in his lap, which he hoped might help him understand the things that go on in Italy's head, lounging on his favorite leather couch. The sweet sound of silence filled the spacious expanse and Germany went back to his chapter on thought processes. Honestly, he was very proud of himself today in the board room. Italy had been telling him he needed to chill out more, and though Germany didn't agree with everything the smaller man had tried to persuade him to, he could see where he was coming from when Italy said he was to high-maintenance. But still... he was still extremely irked how immature all the other countries behaved. Not surprised, mind you, but pissed. All of his preparation, how well things had been going... He didn't even get to speak!

The blond sighed yet again and turned the page. Halfway through a section about imprinting, the front door opened and two different salutations were shouted at once:  
"Yo West? We're back squirt!" _Where the hell had Prussia been?_

"Doitsu, I'm home!"

Germany cringed and closed his book. There would be no more peace in this house for the rest of the night. Closing the text, he placed his glasses beside it and raked his fingers through his limp hair.

"Hey guys," he replied lethargically, getting up from his beloved sofa to great the arrivals.

"Ve, Germany! You really should have see the fight after you left! France sucker-punched-" the brunette continued to babble away as he threw his arms around Germany's waist in a death grip. _If only he would display that kind of strength in training..._ he patted the smaller man's head, tuning out his rambling. In truth, Germany was very glad he hadn't been there to witness the political catastrophe. Prussia breezed past them all without a word, up to abuse the infinite resource the internet was, no doubt.

And in through the door came Japan talking animatedly with a young woman in Japanese. _Oh great. Now there's someone else in my house... _"Italy what have you done?" Germany muttered to the Italian, still attached to his waist.

"Oh, ve! You need to meet her Germany! You'll like her so much!" Italy grabbed the larger man's hand and tugged him to his own foyer.

Japan and the strange woman broke conversation momentarily when the small Asian offered to take her jacket (She was wearing a very professional skirt-suit which Germany approved of,) and they turned to see Italy and Germany. He finally got a good look at the intruder. She was relatively tall, had green eyes, wavy blond hair (which had the look of being cooped up in a bun all day) and gold rimmed glasses. Judging by her body, Germany formed the opinion that she was in some way related to Ukraine. Her piercing eyes flicked over him and Germany was grateful for the dim lighting in the foyer to hide his blush. He was greeting this lady in a black undershirt and the pair of red boxers Italy had given him for Christmas one time.

After a moment of awkward silence the woman broke the silence, "Guten tag, you're Germany," it wasn't a question. "It's nice to meet you. I've heard quite a lot." she smiled warmly, but shot a look at Italy. Germany wasn't surprised at this. Knowing the other man, he didn't shut up the whole way home. The woman stuck out her hand to shake, which happened to be customary in his country. It could have easily been a coincidence, but the tall man had a feeling it wasn't. He took her hand suspiciously and shook it. She had a strong grip. Well, alright then. Germany cleared his throat,

"Excuse me, but _who _exactly are you?" he demanded of the charming woman.

"Oh, how silly of me," she blushed. "I'm the Geneva Conference!"

**I wasn't sure when Greece began its downward economic spiral, so for lack of better material, that's what got used.**

**R&R PLEASE!**


	2. Ignorance is Bliss Or not

**Chapter 2: Ignorance is Bliss**

Germany's eye began to twitch again.

"... Y-You're who...?" Italy took a step away from the larger man as a precaution.

"I'm zhe Geneva conference," she restated, a small smile on her pretty mouth. She was used to this kind of thing.

"I... I... I sink... I need to sit down," Germany made his way back to his spot on the couch, plopping down. The mind of the normally more informed German began to piece things together, but he was still flustered.

The three visitors came to stand in front of the blond man. Italy came to sit beside his friend, placing a hand on his broad shoulder. "Ve, its okay Doitsu, Japan will explain. Right Japan?" the pasta loving nation looked to his other friend for conformation.

"Hai. Germany, just like we countries came to exist due to an establishment of a sovereignty, a border and an economy, it's very similar to the way other entities exist. In Ms. Geneva's case, her founders would be the the conference board. " Japan paused, giving his friend a moment to let the information sink in. And sink in it did.

The silence was so thick in the room you could cut it with a knife while Germany digested this information, with a foul taste in his mouth. Italy withdrew his hand from his friend's shoulder in fear.

"And... zhis whole time I _never knew_? Zhe hell!" the large man had to bite his tongue to keep from spewing long lines of German obscenities at his '_friends_'. His cheek was twitching now. Germany eventually came to some of understanding, still simmering at his ignorance and the small betrayal of lack of communicated information. (His thoughts, not mine.) he was still royally pissed that he, a major power-wielding country for hundreds of years, wasn't even aware of something as trivial as this.

Taking a few deep breaths, he settled back into the plush couch after his outburst.

"Ja, well vhat _else _do I _not know_," Germany growled in a soft, condescending tone, laying his head back against the cushions.

"Ve, Germany, it's okay. Me and Japan-san didn't know either until this afternoon. That is er... " he replied shakily after a moment of awkward silence. " Until Ms. Geneva began yelling at us all in a very scary way." he finished carefully, summoning up his best look of fearful innocence on the ending statement, like he was treading on thin ice in March. Germany quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at the woman who was apparently the Geneva Conference. She smiled sweetly and shrugged like it was no big deal.

The blond man opened his mouth to ask another, though undetermined question, but Ms. Geneva began to talk, "To answer you earlier question Mr. Germany," she started, lowering herself into the recliner across from the large man, "All major gatherings have a beings to represent them the way the countries do. For example you have Carnival, the Olympics, the New Years, me and lots of others." _I __think she can handle herself now._ Japan thought, excusing himself upstairs to stay in one of the many spare rooms in the large house, not wanting to drive home at this late hour. Geneva shifted in her seat and gave her chatting companion a mischievous grin. "Zhere's even a ComiCon," she giggled. Germany found this a form of amusing as well; a mental image of an Alfred look-alike in a comical (pun intended) get-up that contained a mixture of some of the most famous super heroes, which equated to an epic fail. A small smile tugged at the tall man's mouth at this.

"But Mr. Germany," the woman interrupted his train of thought, threatining to unload at insanity, "are you sure you didnt know us? What about Oktoberfest?"

"Agh! I hadnt even thought about that!" Germany's anger flared up again, thinkning about this.

"How is zhat even possible? Damn bastard. First thing tommorow, I swear-" he broke off from his momentary tirade, looking to the Geneva Conference. "You don't happen to have his number do you?"

"But of course," Geneva smiled her honeyed smile, but this one was a little different from her other genuinely friendly ones. A little mor cold. She tooke the liberty of slipping of her proffesional heels and made herself more comfortable on the recliner she currently occupied.

"And...?" Germany pressed the other blond.

"Well... as long as you don't kill him. He's a friend of mine after all," she replied with a faint blush on her cheeks. _Really?_ Germany thought to himself.

"I do suppose it was _mostly _his fault you didn't know..." she said absently, to no one in particular.

"Zhat relationship seems highly unlikely to me. You being zhe Geneva Conference, and _he_ being a festival completley devoted to drinking alcohol," he responded to her earlier comment with skepticism.

"Ja, well... he's not as bad as he sounds. Und he likes beer a _lot_ more than the next guy. But thank heaven he's not an alcoholic. Anymore." she blushed at the last part, shifting in her seat. "Besides, I'm not as striaght laced as you might think." her blush deepened. She averted her eyes from the quizzical gaze of the large country.

"I see," he teased, making her more self-concious. Germany began to cross his legs (he already knew this was going to be a long conversation) but there was something occupying his lap.

"Ve... ve... ve-" the Italien's snoring was suddenly interrupted.

"Agh, get off me Feli!" the larger man snarled quietly at his friend. Being pushed away, the smaller nation whimpered pathetically, moving to another spot on the sofa to continue his respite. Geneva chuckled at the sight of the sweet man snuggling into the plush leather of the couch, and his protector getting up to drape an afgahn over his charge for the latter's warmth.

"Vhat? Vhat is so amusing?" he asked defensivley, challenging the woman to say something displeasing to his ears.

"Nussing, nussing..." she smiled widley, trying not to giggle. Germany blushed and shot a glare to the other man, as is if it was completely his fault for his emberassment. It was of course indirect, but still a nuisance to the blond.

"Say, er, Ms. Geneva?" Germany started, very much desiring to change the current subject. "How is it you can speak wiz Japan in his native tongue so fluently?" it rather baffled him how she could chatter away like that with the asian man. His language was so complicated, Germany himself only knew a few simple phrases, and forget charaters!

"Oh zhat's easy to explain. I'm basically a child of all attending countries." she replied, a wicked grin on her face. "!" Germany's face immedietly went beet red to the ears, and he couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself for the few _choice _images that slid threw his mind at this comment. The other topic was better than this one.

"Ergo, I can speak all zhe languages of the attending countries fluently. Of course I am first and foremost Swiss..." she trailed off. The thought of Switzerland being Geneva's father made Germany cringe internally. _Well, it could have been worse. It could be Poland or America..._This was getting even more awkward.

_"_Ja I see. I noticed you changed dialects too," she had even switched to his own accent, matching it perfectly.

"Oh ja? Zhat's a little habit of mine, it just seems to work better for diplomacy. Zhat, and I like to speak to my friends in zheir native tongues."

Italy muttered something in his sleep about pasta, curling tighter into a ball like an adorable kitten. Geneva didn't miss the look of tenderness that crossed the would-be intimidating German's face as he glanced at the Italien.

"So you wouldn't be averse to speaking in German the rest of the night?" he tested her.

"Nein, natürlich nicht, (No, not at all,)" she chirped to her companion. This finally made Germany smile a little, and he decided he liked the Geneva Conference.

"If eh... you're a, um... child of _a-all_ zhen-nations..." Geneva got the gist of what the large man was trying to ask and chuckled.

"Hahaha! Oh gosh, no. You remind me of Niklas," she turned pink and tried to stifle her laughter. Germany started, turning red again. That hadn't been what he'd been trying to ask at all!

"Agh! Zhat's not what I m-ment!" he tried to recover, shaking his head vigorously. "What I ment was, er, how does zhat affect you? A-as a person, I mean..." he rubbed the back of his head in emberassment, further mussing the blond locks. Her mouth made a small 'o' of understanding, and Geneva nodded. "Well for one sing, it seems my personality is a mix of all zhe different countries. You know, since zhey mingle and all..." Germany nodded, nonverbally gesturing for her to go on. "Um... I'm rahter OCD (being a convention, zhat's a given) but only when I seem to get to it. I sink zhat's a thing from countries like Greece and Spain. And sanks to some _ozher countries_," she emphasized, "namely yourself and Russia, I have quite a taste for alcohol. I'm a picky eater too," she crinkled her nose at Italy, which made Germany smile internally.

"Anyzhing else?" he jested.

"Uh, ja. But little things like that. " she paused for a second. "Oh, and it seems I have a few of zheir preferances as well," an implied 'some more emberassing than others' lingered there. Geneva's cheeks went pink. Again. Germany tried not to think about the last statement to much as an idea wormed its way to the surface.

"Ms. Geneva, do you like baking?" he queried innocently, trying to be nonchalant. And failing. At this the young woman's face lit up like Christmas.

"I love to bake! Biscuits, danishes, fudge, pies... oh but _cake. I love cake!"_ she squealed girlishly, clasping her hands together, sitting up in the recliner. Germany was begning to like this strange woman more and more. He smiled genuinly at her, standing and held out a directing arm. "Zhen let us continue zhis conversation in zhe kitchen, ja?"

XxXxXxXxX

Italy woke from his siesta on Germany's couch, stretching like an adorable kitten, and yawned (much also like an infant cat.) In the normally silent distance of Germany's house, the auburn haired man could hear a noise. He got up, absently wondering were the blanket had come from, and made his way to the kitchen, still stretching as he walked. In the kitchen baking ingredients and beer bottles were grouped neetly in their aqcuainted groups all around the counters. Germany and Geneva sang a raucous German drinking song and frosted a three layer Black Forest cake. Italy smiled to himself as he watched the two together. It was good to see Germany making friends. They had all made a friend today.

**Not done guys! Stay tuned! (sorry about any spelling errors :/) **


	3. The Invitation

_**Aaaaaannd... **_**here's chapter three! WARNING: this chapter is GerIta centered so feel free to enjoy at your own leisure! ^^' btw I made up the ball thing if you can't tell. I remember something vague of something like this happening in Italy on a regular basis though. *shrug.**

**Me no own nussing. :'C *sad face**

**Chapter 3: The Invitation **

_Ludwig Beilschmidt, _

_You are hereby invited to the Annual Venice Masquerade Ball, _

_held May the 25th , beginning at dusk 7:30 pm. _

_You are encouraged to bring an additional guest of your choosing._

_We look forward to your attendance,_

_The Annual Venice Masquerade Ball Committee_

_and_

_Esperanza Mucciano_

"Italia, vhat is zhis?" Germany asked the smaller man as he waltzed into the kitchen, no doubt in search of pasta. The blond kept studying the intricate filigree that decorated the borders of the fancy piece of paper.

"Ve? Oh, it's the invitation to the Annual Venice Masquerade Ball we hold in Venice every year," he smiled happily at his friend.

"Ja, I know _zhat_," Germany tried not to roll his eyes, "But..."

"But what Doitsu? It means you can come!" the naturally happy Italian threw his hands up in the air in excitement, then got real quiet. "And you can... take some one w-with you.." he added timidly. He shuffled feet subtly, averting his gaze from the other. Oblivious, Germany moved the conversation forward.

"... Not to seem rude Italy, we've been friends so long, so vhy am I just now getting zhis?" he asked the smaller nation.

"Oh ve, don't you remember Doitsu? I sent you one a few years ago, but you refused to come," his voice held a hint of sadness. He was right, Germany did remember. He inwardly cringed at his callousness towards Italy.

The blond pondered this for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Vell... it's not like I have anyone to go wis..." his cheeks darkened a little. Where there shouldn't have been, there was a pregnant silence.

"You could... go with m-me..." the Italian uttered, not thinking and the last part came out as more of a question than anything. The brunette cursed himself silently for his slip of tongue, _Dammit Feliciano! __What the hell is wrong with you? _

"I... uh..." Germany flushed and cleared his throat, trying to suppress his blush (failing miserably.) An anxious knot rooted itself in the brunette's stomach, thinking that his friend would reject him and tell him to leave, and then-

"Ja, I don't see why n-not," he turned around quickly to face the kitchen sink, and begun to wash out his half-full coffee cup so Feliciano couldn't see the scarlet coloration that spread to all the way to the tips of his ears. He was quite flustered by the request. He had just done what Germany was going to have to build up the courage to ask his friend... and Italy just spat it out. More or less. It hurt his pride.

The dreaded knot in Italy's was eaten alive by the butterflies that threatened to suffocate him, and he just couldn't contain his excitement, like most of the time he was with Germany. He didn't know why he doubted the blond, he always came through!

"Yay!" he exclaimed, having completely forgotten his previous ill feelings and bounced over to the German and threw his small arms around his waist, burying his face in the fabric of his shirt. Said German couldn't help but grin to himself in giddiness, and Italy nuzzled the spot between his friend's shoulder blades. The feeling in Germany's chest was akin to that of a schoolgirl. After a few moments of the Italian refusing to let go, and Germany gently trying to squirm away, and the other pretending like nothing was going on, "Italia, let go of me." the blond commanded, prying the smaller off and turning to start breakfast.

XxXxXxXxX

"Doitsu, Doitsu! Look what I made for you!" Germany was working diligently, as usual, when Italy bursted into his office in a fit of his seemingly endless excitement and energy.

"Zhis better be important," he muttered to himself quietly.

"Look!" Italy held out an elaborately decorated mask and placed in on the working man's desk, like a small child seeking approval from a hard-to-please parent. Close enough.

Germany broke from his work to view the creation Feliciano had set before him. The mask was layered in a descending order of black, red, and yellow; a curious black beaded fabric bordered the outer rim and inner rim where the eye holes stood. Deep red and black feathers adorned the right corner of the mask, on the opposite side, underneath the left eye a creative, swirl-like pattern, almost Baroque, was stitched into the conjoined silk. It was gorgeous and nothing less than expected from the naturally gifted Italian. If anything, it had more care and detail than some of his other works.

"Wow... Really?" he glanced to Italy, who nodded enthusiastically, squeaking a little.

"Zhis... zhis is beautiful, Ita."

"You really think so?" Italy gasped. Germany nodded, gaving the Italian one of his rare smiles. He seemed to be the only one that could make the stern man smile. Italy flushed and fled the room, leaving the blond to his work before he was told to leave. _But what is it...? Oh, ja. Masquerade. _Germany mentally facepalmed himself for his slowness.

For the rest of the afternoon, Germany kept trying to work, but couldn't stop glancing at the gift Italy had made for him. Every time his eyes made contact with the elaborate mask, his cheeks got a little warm. He considered putting the thing in a drawer, but then realized it could be crushed and shuddered at the thought. He prevented his thoughts from taking the dreaded scenario to far. The thought of the mask being ruined at his hand made he blond feel guilty and his stomach churned.

Germany sighed in defeat, and finished the paper he was currently filling out and quit for the day. He wasn't going to get anything else done at all. Nothing else better to do, he ambled into the kitchen after putting his mask in a safe place and slipping off his military jacket, he cut himself a slice of the cake he and Geneva had made the other night. Germany thought her quite a remarkable woman. Despite the part about getting completely wasted (his fault) he had really enjoyed her company and found her somewhere along the lines of a kindred spirit. Before his memory was consumed by the alcohol, they sat around just talking more. About themselves and the people they knew, experiences they had, for better or for worse. He tried a couple of times to get her to talk about Oktoberfest, but all he received was a name: Niklas Dreschler. When Germany found that bastard, he was going to give him a piece of his mind! This got him to wondering if Geneva was going to be at Italy's Ball.

Finishing with the coffee maker to make a cup to go with his cake, Italy entered the room, "Oh, Doitsu! What are you doing here, I thought you were supposed to be working?" the small Italian scratched his head. _Ja, because I couldn't get mein mind off you..._the blond mentally kicked himself for this thought, and searched for a less embarrassing answer. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to go with the truth. Mostly.

"I was... distracted und couldn't concentrate."

"Ve, are you feeling okay Doitsu?" Italy went up to the German, placing a hand on his forehead. In the other hand he held Germany's now half eaten slice of pastry. The blond frowned at the Italian who only snickered in response, removing his hand from the other's brow. When he smiled, Germany noticed a smear of chocolate on his lower lip.

"-itsu I don't think you're feeling we- what are you staring at?" Germany started at this, when Italy began waving his small hand in front of his face. He hadn't even realized Italy had been talking, he had been so busy staring at his mouth, ironically enough. The way his perfect lips formed words, the small moistness from his tongue habitually licking them... Their gazes locked.

"There's something on your..." Germany's hand seemed to have a mind of it's own, reaching up to Italy's face, cupping his cheek... the brunette's eyes fluttered.

"Prussia, Prussia, Prussia! Prussia, Pruss- oh, hey West and Squirt- Prussia!" the albino came moonwalking into the kitchen, the linoleum floor aiding his antics.

Germany flushed deep crimson and removed his hand from Italy's face. The latter wiped his mouth hurriedly and put the cake he had been holding down on the counter.

Sliding to the fridge, Prussia pulled out the mostly full milk carton, took a deep chug, and put it back on the shelf, which made Germany cringe. The albino grabbed a package of sausage and slid back out of the kitchen on a pair of extra fuzzy pink socks Germany was sure he found on the internet somewhere.

When the blond man bashfully turned his line of sight back to the Italian before him, a pair of bright amber eyes were glued to him. He started a bit and swallowed nervously. Things had suddenly become very tense. Feliciano opened his mouth to speak, but his voice wouldn't work and he couldn't move. He couldn't manage to get any words out. _Well say something! Anything! I love you! Kiss me! Come on! _

_Ding! _The coffee maker chirped, breaking the silence. Germany bit his lip and awkwardly turned away from the other. He had no idea why, it was a fruitless pursuit now. Maybe he just couldn't the man behind him now...

"Are you hungry Italia? We can make pasta," he turned for approval from his... friend, but the kitchen was empty.

***A/N: the plot thickens! (and the tension builds!) Don't worry guys, it's about to get stickier! Next chapter we get to meet a new character! So stay tuned and review, or a drunk Miley Cyrus will come to your house at 3 in the morning! O.O'**


	4. Dusk

**Howdy y'all! Sorry for the late update! I went to church camp in Kentucky :D so obviously I couldn't do any updating. And the last couple of days I haven't wanted to do anything but sleep! (Lights out was at 12 and breakfast was at 7:30!) and now I think I picked up some tropical disease :P and feel all stuffy and fatigued. So right now I'm curled up on the couch with all my blankets and pillows, watching Scrubs and typing this. **

**Food for Thought: you guys should really look into Evangelical Christianity. It can really turn your life around, I know it has for me and I've never been happier in my entire life, and don't regret a single moment of my walk with God. Just think about it :3**

Chapter 4: Dusk

There was a cool in the air, a tropical breeze swept through the Mediterranean countryside, carrying the scent of the ocean brine and herbs with it. Despite the lights of the ancient city, and the old, historical buildings, the stars of the night sky still managed to shine through the veil of artificial light and congregate together to form the celestial audience that attended the evening's events. The moon herself even seemed to have drawn closer to the earth to participate in the on-goings of the spectacular ball that filled the streets of Venice.

_Doitsu,were are you? _Italy worried to himself, fidgeting with his crimson tie. If he wasn't so distressed, he would have felt a swelling of happiness and pride in his chest, of the beauty of the party that he had helped perfect. _You told me you would be here on time! _His eyes robotic-ally searched the surrounding crowd.

As things had turned out, Fate decided to throw a wild card into what was supposed to be the best evening of Feliciano's life to top all others, he and Germany didn't actually get to _go_ together. And as Fate would have it, on that fateful evening that had resulted in such mortification, Italy had gotten a call from the Ball, saying she needed him to come home and help her with the remaining preparations; after that Italy never got the chance to go back to Germany's.

_Maybe he'll forget about the whole thing and... _Well no, it actually wasn't Italy's fault for once, if anybody was supposed to forget anything it was himself. _Germany started it..._ and there was no way in _hell _Feliciano was forgetting_ that_ anytime soon.

Italy pushed his muddled thoughts away and continued to pick through the attendees of the

Ball. He had instructed someone to fetch him when Ludwig arrived; he had to walk around, welcoming the guests and make them feel welcome, but he was neglecting his duties to look for his... _friend. _

_He's just your friend, Feliciano. That's all he'll ever be... _The thought was fleeting and he barely registered it, but it made him slightly depressed. It was still very much possible that one of the helpers was not informed or, they had forgotten so that was another reason Feli was combing the attending patrons. He had also kept his mask off for the sole reason of Germany being able to recognize him. A small, wishful fantasy of the blond finding him and picking him up bridal style, spinning around then kissing him tenderly came to mind. Instead of the images helping his mood like they normally did, it only made him more sour.

A couple by one of the food tables caught his eye, and the brunette stopped his survey for a moment to investigate the two. A blond man and woman stood together talking animatedly. The man had his back to the Italian, so Feli could easily see his broad shoulders and the flute of champagne he held in one hand. He was also quite tall (but when you're Feliciano everyone's tall.) The woman was very pretty and had her long hair curled to one side, and wore a vibrant red dress with a classy low cut neck, and at her thigh material bunched together like a satin and silk rose that was in full bloom, and tapered out like a mix between a cocktail and flamenco dress with a twist.

_Wait... hey, that's Geneva! _Italy suddenly realized as he drew closer. _And that man looks like... Doitsu! _The only way the Italian could tell was they both had their mask off. He momentarily sped up to get closer to his friends. Detained by a group of rambunctious people laughing and refusing to move, he kept his gaze on them as he worked his way over. He noticed Geneva shift her position, and a afore-unknown slit amongst the grouping of fabric parted for her pale thigh. The man that was apparently Germany noticed this as well. He ventured to mischievously reach for her graceful leg and he was greeted with a playful slap.

Italy stopped trying to shove his way through the crowd of people at this. In horrified fascination, he could only watch as the tall man set aide his champagne glass , and pulled Geneva by her waist into a shallow dip, and turned so Italy could clearly see the man's face. Italy's heart broke as the male, who was most definitely Ludwig Beilschmidt, pulled Geneva into a passionate kiss.

****READ ME!****

**See I told yew guys! Don't kill me please, I promise you won't hate me after chapter five! I promise! I know exactly what you're thinking! WHAT THA **** WAS THAT? All shall be explained and you shall all be VERY happy. I'll try to update this by tomorrow or Wednesday so y'all don't have to suffer. R&R or a very drunk France will come after you! Pathetic little filler chapter :P**


	5. Spotlight

**Hey guys! Here's the chapter you guys have been waitin' for! Enjoy!**

**For the record, I don't own a single thing, not even the air I breath. :P**

**Geneva=Celeste**

Chapter 5: Spotlight

Italy didn't know if he could breathe, let alone respond when someone mistakenly shoved him. He stumbled at the contact, and breaking from his trance, quickly turned to get away from the horrific scene unfolding in front of his eyes. Bile rose in his stomach and the brunette's vision began to blur, so as he made his escape he ran smack into the person behind him. Italy tried to get the word 'sorry' out, but couldn't make his mouth function properly.

…..

"Ita? ...Italy!" Germany gripped the smaller man's shoulders. The brunette eventually looked at him, a silent tear sliding down his cheek.

"Verdahmmt, Italia, what's wrong?" the blond demanded of his friend.

"Look at me," he grabbed the Italian's chin and forced the desired eye contact. _Mein Gott,_ it was a sight to break a heart of stone: Italy's eyes shining with tears and an unspeakable pain, lower lip quivering with barely controlled distress. It made Germany's stomach sick. This was real anguish, not the trivial little things the timid country burst into tears for on a regular basis. Germany was at a complete loss as to what the problem could have been! The blond planned on slowly mutilating who or whatever's fault it was, using as much torture said body could take, and burning the remains.

Italy seemed to come to, and responded to the domineering German, "B-But I thought-... You were-...! But!" he brunette's head did a quick 180 off in an unknown direction, back to the German. Behind him, back to Germany. He repeated this process this several times, then seemed to have a 'eureka' moment. Whatever state of hysteria the Italian was in, he broke our of it and threw his small arms around _**his **_Germany.

"Ah... What's wrong Ita?" Germany asked again, more gently. After a moment of hesitation, the blond hugged his petite friend back.

"It's... It's nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm not." Italy pulled back from Germany, and rubbed the tears away. The blond crossed his arms across his broad chest, and glared sternly at the other country, but was ignored.

"I'm so happy you could come Doitsu! You're a bit late though..." Italy struck up, turning from the larger man.

"Ja, well... Prussia and I... er, got into a fight." he explained, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ve~? What happened?"

"Er... Nussing." lucky for Germany, the darkness of night and lack of total illumination for the feeling of ambiance, the blush that dusted his cheeks went unseen by the Italian.

…..

"_Dude, come on! Just do it! Vhat's zhe worst zhat could happen?" Prussia countered, throwing up his hands in distress._

"_Sink about what you just said bruder, zhen ask me again." he replied venomously, buttoning up his dress shirt._

"_Wis zhe way he was looking at you zhe other day West, zhere's no chance in heaven __or__ hell zhat he's gonna freak. In a bad way." Gilbird tweeted in agreement. _

_Germany smiled darkly, "Wis my luck, he never wants to speak to me again." his voice broke on the last word and he closed his eyes._

"_West," Prussia walked up to his younger brother and placed a supportive hand on his sturdy shoulder, "You won't regret it... Trust me."_

…_.._

He couldn't do it. He just... couldn't do it. If a worst case scenario reared its ugly head, he wouldn't know what to do... Suicide though, would be a feasible option.

…..

They parted the kiss and Niklas rested his forehead against Geneva's.

"Ich leibe dich Celeste," he told her quietly, looking into her eyes, swimming in them.

"Ich leibe _dich_ Niklas," she leaned in and kissed the tall German again softly on the lips. Over the noise of the party the couple could hear a near-by band began to play a classic Tango rhythm. Niklas wiggled his eyebrows at his companion playfully.

"Oh no you don- Eep!" he took Geneva by the waist and dragged her to a flatter surface, Geneva in tow, making mock protests.

"This isn't fair!" she whined as her handsome partner pulled her into position.

"Oh shut up and just dance," Niklas rolled his eyes, and kissed his beloved's cheek. The orderly convention complied, no longer struggling and complaining.

A few other party-goers looked on as they moved together in perfect time with the music. The couple did a wonderful job of portraying the story of two people who despised each other, but madly wanted to make love until dawn. Passion, that's what the Tango was all about. A disastrous mix of heated emotions that equated to a raging inferno of chemistry between the two dancers that dared accept the hurtle that was the Tango, and were required succeed in telling the story.

The couple staged the opening moves with Celeste pulling Niklas to her and nailing him with a lustful gaze, the woman turned to leave, but her partner grasped her pale hand and spun her back, flush against his body. For a moment they seemed to consider their positions, with Niklas holding his partner from behind. Then one hand in Celeste's, the other on her waist, the German spun her into position and they began to strut with the music.

At one point Niklas tried to kiss his dancing counterpart, and she responded with a vicious faux slap across the cheek, which made the onlookers chuckle. He dipped Celeste vengefully, and brought her back up, their faces centimeters apart. She refused to give into her suitor's charm, and steeled her nerve, turning her head away and acting like she wasn't in such close confines, being held by the man she was so obviously smitten with. Niklas seemed to get angry at this and upped his efforts at wooing the object of his heated affection.

The music sped up half-way through the song and on impulse, the male of the dancing couple nicked a crimson rose from one of the watchers, making the young woman he took it from blush. He took the thorny flower in his mouth, challenging Celeste. When she still refused his approach, the German flipped the rose over with his tongue, so the blossom was on the opposite side, showing off to the woman. She responded with a look of intrigue.

There was a slow bit and Niklas leaned Celeste back slowly, mischievously running his hand down her thigh then abruptly grabbed her knee. Celeste's head, which had been slowly leaning back in submission, shot up, with a look of fury painted across her features when she realized she was falling prey to her adversary's tactics.

The alcohol-loving festival pulled his partner to him, and they stood like that for a moment glaring into each other's eyes, trying to decide whether to walk away in anger/start a vicious argument or kiss passionately.

…..

Germany was watching all of this and it made him feel quite awkward standing next to Italy, seeing Celeste dance like that (it wasn't all that surprising, but still new.) He put the pieces together, and determined Geneva's definition of _'friend' _meant boyfriend or lover. But what was really driving him insane was the man she was dancing with looked _exactly like himself._ It was living in an alternate dimension, or standing on the other side of the Looking Glass. Germany shook his head of these notions; he was spending to much time around England.

But seeing that man, that reflection of himself, so passionate and so much in love with his partner of choice and being able to share moments like these with her, made Germany feel... inadequate. Insecure. And it was bizarre seeing his carbon copy behaving in such a manner.

The blond kept glancing at Italy, who was clutching his arm, the whole time wondering what was going through the pasta-lover's head. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been to dire because he looked like he was going to pass out from happiness. Germany had this feeling of cotton stuck in his throat. He didn't know what to do about the whole ordeal, and was rather distressed. _Tell Italy, __**don't**__tell Italy... Come on, be a man Ludwig! I... can't do it... Grow some balls! Ver__**dahmmt**__! You are so __**pathetic**__! You just can't do anything right, can you? ...Nein, apparently not. _A weaker voice and a stronger voice inside his head battled about the situation. _I'm loosing it. _The other voices agreed.

Germany couldn't banish the feelings of awkwardness and failure that kept circulating in the pit of his stomach, and cutting off his oxygen. ...Speaking of oxygen, he was beginning to loose feeling in his right arm. He glanced at Italy one more time, and left him be. He didn't have the heart or the willpower to shake the brunette off.

Breaking away from these drag-down thoughts, Germany turned his attention back to the dancing couple.

…..

Violins began to whine as the song drew to a close. In a last-ditch attempt, Niklas got a devious look in his eye and went to dip Celeste again. Germany had a wonderful view of 'himself' dragging his lips across Geneva's bust and kissing her collarbone in one final attempt of wooing. The other German couldn't help but turn completely crimson at this gesture.

The two ended the dance suddenly, Celeste's hands holding Niklas' face, and he one hand knotted on her long, wavy hair, the other on the small of her back. As a finishing touch she hitched her free leg on her partner's hip. The spectators applauded happily and praised the dancers, prompting the man to kiss his counterpart. He did as requested, and the orderly convention returned his affection.

…..

"I'm done! We can go back to zhe hotel now!" Niklas huffed, referring to a previous complaint of Celeste's about going home so she wouldn't have to talk to the Ball. "That dance got me a little... worked up," he said in a seductive voice, stealthily wrapping an arm around his lover's waist.

"Quit zhat you pest, you're just trying to be annoying." Celeste was flushed and her breathing was heavier from the vigorous dance. She smacked the festival lightly on the chest, making him smile.

"Ja, you're right," he relented, dropping the voice and pecking her lightly on the cheek. "I'd much razher go back to the hotel, take a cold shower, pig out on chocolate gelato, and fall asleep watching Zhe Sound of Music." Celeste, having no idea how he kept a straight face, burst into a fit of giggles, and then acquired a case of hiccups when Niklas kept up the facade of "Why are you laughing at me? I'm being serious!"

This really drew the night to a close for the both of them. Geneva had stopped by Niklas' house to pick him up for the Ball. He was her plus one.

"Oh, I missed you!" she had squealed in a very unladylike manner, throwing her arms around his neck and hanging on. The blond man humored her, picking her up and spinning her around.

"_Bitte _woman! It's only been a few days!" he chastised. Geneva had rolled her eyes at his falseness. She knew he missed her too.

After an evening like the one they had just shared together, she knew this was what memories were made of. And this one was definitely getting stored in a special place in her mind.

…..

_Oh mein Gott, their headed right for us! _Germany's stomach dropped and his heart was in his throat... he thought he was going to pass out! Before he had a real bone to pick with this Oktoberfest guy, now he probably wasn't even going to be able to make eye contact, let alone hold a steady conversation with him. His creation (?) had more balls to go out on a limb for his love than he ever had.

_Regardless, maybe I'll kill myself anyway... _the blond thought sourly, forbidding the warring voices in his head from returning. He was about to take Italy and drag him else where, so he wouldn't have to speak to the happy couple, and he would come up with an excuse later _so help me Gott._ Maybe go drink enough to get up the courage to confess. Or at least ask him out. _One step at a time Ludwig. _

As Germany was about to turn away and pull the euphoric Italian with him, said Italian caught sight of the two people the blond was trying to avoid.

"Ve~! Geneva, we're over here!" Italy released Germany's blood-deprived arm and waived at them through the crowd. Germany blanched and was about to make a move to _shut him up. _

But it was too late.

He saw the Geneva conference smile hugely and maker her way through the crowd, Oktoberfest in tow.

**Yay! I told you guys you wouldn't hate me! For y'all's information, I only have one person out of the 210 that have read this story, reviewing (thank you lenluv139!) so apparently you guys aren't real psyched about this story. So unless I hear otherwise (from more than lenluv139) I'm going to put this story on the back-burner (because it is NOT over,) so I can work on my others. Regular updates are going down the drain in this event. *sad face.**


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